It was hurriedly agreed that the men should stand
at opposite ends of the room, nearly twenty feet apart,
back to back. At the word given by Prince Ugo,
they were to turn and fire.

Sallaconi came in with the pistol case and the seconds
examined the weapons carefully. A moment later
the room was cleared except for the adversaries, the
seconds, and Prince Ugo.

There was the stillness of death. On the face
of the Russian there was an easy smile, for was not
he a noted shot? Had he ever missed an adversary
in a duel? Dickey was pale, but he did not tremble
as he took the pistol in his hand.

“Good-bye, Phil,” was all he said.
Poor Quentin turned his face away as he clasped his
hand, and he could only murmur:

“If he hits you, I’ll kill him.”

A moment later the word “fire” came and
the two men whirled into position. Dickey’s
arm went up like a flash, the other’s more cruelly
deliberate. Two loud reports followed in quick
succession, the slim American’s nervous finger
pressed the trigger first. He had not taken aim.
He had located his man’s position before turning
away, and the whole force of his will was bent on driving
the bullet directly toward the spot he had in mind.
Kapolski’s bullet struck the wall above Dickey’s
head, his deadly aim spoiled by the quick, reckless
shot from the other end of the room.

He lunged forward. Dickey’s bullet had
blown away part of the big Russian’s chin and
jaw, burying itself in the wall beyond.

XV

APPROACH OF THE CRISIS

Prince Ugo’s face was livid, and his black eyes
bulged with horrified amazement. The unscrupulous,
daring, infallible duelist whom he had induced to
try conclusions with Quentin in a regular and effective
way, had been overthrown at the outset by a most peculiar
transaction of fate. He had assured the Russian
that Quentin was no match for him with the weapons
common to dueling, and he had led him to believe that
he was in little danger of injury, much less death.
Kapolski, reckless, a despiser of all things American,
eagerly consented to the plan, and Ugo saw a way to
rid himself of a dangerous rival without the taint
of suspicion besmirching his cloak. Sallaconi
was an accomplished swordsman, but it would have been
unwise to send him against Quentin. Ugo himself
was a splendid shot and an expert with the blade,
and it was not cowardice that kept him from taking
the affair in his own hands. It was wisdom, cunning
wisdom, that urged him to stand aloof and to go up
to his wedding day with no scandal at his back.
But the unexpected, the miraculous had happened.
His friend, his brother prince, his unwitting tool,
had gone down like a log, his vaunted skill surpassed
by the marksmanship and courage of an accursed American.